


Abstinence

by Crystallinee



Category: Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Joker Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-08 05:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7744783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crystallinee/pseuds/Crystallinee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He must have her back, no matter what it takes. - The Joker's perspective of his separation from Harley in Suicide Squad, and after their reunion.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Abstinence

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Another one-shot from me! God, I am so obsessed with this couple. Also, Sad Clown Boyfriend is 100% what I'm here for. For everyone who read and reviewed my earlier stories, thank you! Your feedback means everything to me and I'm thrilled and excited about the response.
> 
> The Usual Disclaimer: This is based on Harley's and Joker's relationship as portrayed in Suicide Squad, which is quite different from the original portrayal in a number of ways. Based on Margot Robbie's Harley Quinn and Jared Leto's Joker.
> 
> You can find the playlist for this fanfic, both parts, here:  
> http://crystallinee-waters.tumblr.com/post/150324066131/fanfic-playlist-the-joker-x-harley-quinn

 

 _Well I'm not a zombie_  
_But I feel like one today_  
_Self induced comatose, chemical daze_  
_I'm insane_  
_Well, I can feel it in my bones_  
_Coursing through my veins_  
_When did I become so cold?_

 

 

Abstinence.

No one had warned him about it, that tearing withdrawal. He never thought it would be _grinding_ his bones the way it did. It made his mind and body crumble until he was nothing more than a shell, containing all the pent-up violence that threatened to overflow. Just like a mine, the slightest touch was all it took, a breath, and he would explode.

Abstinence for everything that she was, her body and soul.

He had never depended on anyone for anything, he didn't _need_ anyone. He was the Joker. The one and only. Henchmen, humans, just like expensive Italian sport cars, were easily replaceable. Everything in this world was floating, gone with the pull of a trigger.

And now... what a pathetic display, he would have laughed if only he hadn't lost his smile. He was a mess, hollow like a bombed building. He couldn't remember the last time he slept. Days, weeks even, he couldn't see straight anymore. He couldn't remember when his starving body was nourished with anything else than vodka.

She had been gone for so long. And no matter whom he threatened, whom he called, whom he slammed against the wall with the promise of breaking their necks and cutting their faces up, no one could tell him where she was. She had just vanished off the face of the earth.

And he was suffering; no point in denying. He was the embodied form of aching. Pain.

It was… _painful_. He never minded physical pain, it had become a permanent part of existing, and he used to turn all mental pain into physical. But now, this pain was chasing him into a corner, trapping him.

He had tried. He had gone out on wild sprees to distract himself. But driving through a crowd and see the bodies rolling off the streets, breaking into fancy parties and unloading ten machine guns, creating chaos and leaving a burning city behind, was only so fun. He had grown tired, losing his energy. There was no one there to celebrate his victory with him, there was no one there to appreciate the heists. No one who came running to him with a vexing laugh and devoted smile.

Suddenly the world, the part of it that moved in the darker circles, could see him, stripped of his smile, a Joker in pain. A Joker who made no jokes. To the rest of the world, he had just disappeared, gone into hiding - except for when he was out searching, leaving a trail of bodies behind.

He had grown tired of the distractions, he was only sitting there, gun in hand, like a pacifier to a kid, staring down into the floor, head swinging back and forth, grinding his teeth, grasping the gun tighter.

_Where. Is. She._

The henchman was staring into the black hole of a gun muzzle. The Joker's eyes were that of a wild beast, an unstoppable force of nature, ready to strike, ready to kill. An addict gasping for the next dose, baring his veins desperately, he found his voice and it was reduced to a dark, throaty snarl.

"Where is she?"

He threw his head back slowly, gasping for air, as Jonny Frost informed him of Harley's whereabouts. He hissed the orders in reply, to ready the cars and get the weapons.

He was a fool, with weaknesses, and those weaknesses were exposed like a bared throat, begging for someone to slice it up. How … _disgusting._ It made his stomach twist and turn, but maybe that was only the result of living off of nothing next to alcohol.

He couldn't go on with anything anymore, not the business and clients, not the clubs he owned, not even taunting and provoking Batsy. He couldn't do _anything_ without her in the equation anymore, and that sickened him.

Oh yes, the Joker, The Clown Prince, the most dangerous man in Gotham City, was reduced to a sobbing, laughing mess on the floor. He had known it all along, since the realized he couldn't leave her in the acid bath, he would come for her.

He would always come for her, no matter what part of hell she had been tucked away in. No matter how far Batman and the law tried to keep her out of his reach, out of his _grip_ , he would find her and bring her back. It was a promise to himself just as much as her.

He used to think that she was an utter fool, so pathetic, for falling for his sweet talk and for letting him use her like a tool in his plans only to end up strapped to a table with electrical cords slammed to each side of her head – but of course, her blind infatuation wasn't the stupidest thing around, no.

 _He_ had let himself fall for the blond woman with pouting lips and eyes that were filled with determination, begging him for _validation_ , long before she even threw her entire, prestigious life in the trash and dove right into a vat of boiling chemicals for him. He had been the one who was completely overturned by the weight and depth of his desire, his obsession, his need.

Yes, no matter how sick and twisted it was, he _needed_ her.

He wanted her in his arms and the thought itched. He wanted to feel the smell of her skin, her soft hair, hell, it was driving him up the walls, down the drains. Nothing could stop it; his brain was spinning, _screaming_ for it, the fix. He reminisced about all the times he had counted on her death, left her to die but changed his mind. It was as if his body instinctively knew not to get rid of her; it could feel the pull.

He heard the low growl coming from himself, the laugh overtaking, turning into dry sobs that shook his body. Breathing harshly, trying to ease the discomfort tightening in his chest, he let himself fall back to the floor. He rested in the middle of his circle of deadly toys.

Underneath it all, he was a man that was so insanely desperate after months of separation that he couldn't stand another second in his own skin. His meltdown was overtaking him completely, changing him, just like the chemicals once did.

It brought him a small promise of joy; how he would turn this world down now, rip it apart inch by inch, in his pursuit for her. He would annihilate the ground those fuckers walked on, those who took her away. He would exterminate everyone who had ever been in touch with them. He would burn this whole city down. He would cause such such a massive destruction that it would be forever burned into the survivor's retinas. Bullets, blood and bodies everywhere – his laughter turned high pitched. He could daydream about walking into a place and wildly firing a machine gun into a mass of people, but now he had a goal.

It energized his burnt-out brain; he was suddenly more awake than ever. Maybe it was an effect of his brain being fried into a pudding during electroshock "therapy" back at Arkham, but he could imagine her there, lying beside him and whispering into his ear, like she did to calm him down.

He could practically feel her hot breath on his neck. He moved his head from side to side. She was gone, his mind was naughty and acted without his permission. But she was alive, she _must_ be, or he would let hell loose on her. He would not _allow_ her to die, even if she begged him to.

The pursuit would begin. A plan to follow, something to control and organize. Back to business.

Oh, Harley. The little minx had not only bound herself to him in blood and dirt; she had bound him to her just as tight.

_Now, who's the fool, Doctor?_

The Joker felt the wet stains on his cheeks as he kept on laughing.

 

***

 

When he had his goal, he could focus. Back were the gold chains and leather jackets – he had an appearance to keep up, even if he cared less than before. His hair was slicked back and smoothed out again, gone was the drawn-on smile. He would dress up for her even later, in his best suit.

The Joker had no time for laughs however, not yet. It was time for business.

Nothing felt so thrilling, so close to a thrill, to be out on the streets again and have someone begging for mercy while he threatened their family members and shot down their kids.

Violence, blood, chaos. It made the blood rush through his veins again.

But nothing, _nothing_ , could compare to the sweet rush that flooded him the moment she was walking through the bullet rain to the helicopter. Breathing heavily as he saw her approach, he noticed that the air was filling his lungs again.

Yes, that was laughter and joy.

But then she was gone again.

 

***

 

He carried her in his arms into their house. He wasn't sure if he could trust his brain anymore, after all, she had been haunting him constantly. He swore, if she ever died before him, she would terrorize him to the end of time.

Still, his hallucinations usually didn't last this long. Her soft body was so close to him, to his heart. Her scent filled him up and he decided it was real after all. Her arms were thrown around his neck, refusing to let him go.

He put her down on their bed, surprised over the sudden tenderness that had come over him. If he already wasn't insane, he would assume he was losing it. He most certainly had entered another level of madness lately, considering he had broken into the strictest high-security prison in the world, customized swat uniform and all, done what would be impossible for anyone but him.

Not to mention the hijacked helicopter and bomb manufacturing center intrusion. With all the energy he had put down into this, he could have owned Gotham ten times over and wiped the floor with Batsy.

She was tired after the long drive from the prison, and closed her eyes with a happy smile on her face, mumbling something about her Puddin'. Her hair was messy and she still wore the prison clothes, but surprisingly enough she didn't seem to care about that at all.

"Welcome back, baby", he muttered darkly and, after removing the last piece of uniform and changing to more comfortable clothes, he lay down beside her. She snuggled into his chest and his arms wrapped around her, tightly. _Finally._

His grip tightened even more, she couldn't get away even if she had wanted to. He closed his eyes and smelled her hair – her scent wasn't as sugary sweet as usual considering she wore no perfume. There was a clear tinge of something unfamiliar, cheap prison soap, and he growled with annoyance.

She giggled faintly against his neck before nestling her head against his collarbone, placing a soft kiss on the tattoo. He breathed deeply through his teeth; soon enough she'd be back smelling like usual, intoxicating, but only for him. His heartbeat felt steadier, calmer than before, it seemed to adjust to her even breathing.

One of his hands moved up to her face while his other arm still kept her in a hard grip. He let his hand run over her face, the tip of his fingers traced her jaw, her chin, moving up to her cheekbones, the tip of her nose, gently outlining the sockets of her eyes, applying a little pressure.

Long after she had fallen asleep, peacefully curled up against his chest, he remained unmoving, staring at the ceiling. He felt so eerily calm, it was terrific.

She was not going to leave his side ever again.


	2. Addiction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Joker is reunited with his Harley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all the comments, I really appreciate it!

  
_I've lost my goddamn mind_  
 _It happens all the time_  
 _The drug in me is you_  
 _And I'm so high on misery_

 

He woke up in the darkness, breathing harshly. Something was wrong. He never slept during the nights; always staying up until his body collapsed every third day or so. Still, he only got a couple of hours rest every time.

Like a mixture of a zombie and a vampire, nights were for terrorizing the city and rolling around in misery. For him to be asleep before the sun went up, something was definitely wrong.

The Joker sat up in the bed, every muscle rigid as he grabbed the nearest knife. The nightmare was lingering in his head, increasing his need for violence. There must be someone nearby whose face he could cut up, not so much for enjoyment but to distract himself for another few hours.

Everything without _her_ had been like slowly dragging his dying corpse across a graveyard, desperately looking for distractions to get himself through another night.

He looked around for a bottle of Devil Springs Vodka, his newfound habit to numb his mind. It was a different degree of hell, just turning the heat down an inch, but at least it managed to drown his demons for a while. With a frustrated growl, he realized Frost had taken the last empty bottles away yesterday.

He gritted his teeth. Why did she have to come back to torture him like this, the crazy woman, as if she hadn't fucked up his life enough already? He remembered his dream crystal clear: it had him twisting and turning, at first it went through the old routine: Harley being taken away to some place where he couldn't find her, other people touching her.

But then his sleeping mind had continued further down the abyss: this time she was also falling down in front of his eyes, drowning in the water, her body crushed against concrete. Her screams, caused by someone else, she was bleeding by someone else's hand.

There it was again. Pain. For being a practiced sadomasochist, he sure was sensitive.

So many times he had been tempted to pick out his favorite knife and put it to his throat, making the process short for everyone involved. He didn't know why he hadn't done it already, but maybe a stubborn part of him still decided to wait for her. He would rather have her slicing him up; to get some pleasure out of it all.

The urge to murder was overwhelming, but he wanted to fully indulge in it, like the animal he was without her. He wanted to rip someone's skin off their flesh, the muscles off their bones, crush the bones into a fine powder. He wanted to hear a human scream for their life; he wanted to savor their pain. But all motivation was gone from his system when it wasn't about _her_ , he had no will to act on his urges and it suffocated him.

The Joker put his hands to his face, still grasping the knife, and chuckled quietly. It sounded like strangled sobs. He was utterly stuck in a corner; there was no way to get out. She was supposed to never leave him like this. She was supposed to always be there and help him through. He hated her for it.

He didn't the notice the shuffle of covers until something moved in the edge of his vision. He instinctively raised the knife, but then he heard her voice. Bright and soft.

"Puddin'?"

He stared angrily into the darkness. How many times had she not been taunting him like this, his drugged mind tricking him? How many times had he not reached for her, only to end up grasping his own skin?

Harley was kneeling in front of him on the bed; he felt the smell of her. With well-learned caution she moved closer, her hands rubbing soothing circles on his tense arms.

"I'm here," she whispered softly, pressing a kiss to his neck.

He did not let his guard down.

"Come here, Puddin'," she eased him down to rest with his head in her lap and he finally let go of the knife, hearing it hit the floor with a soft thud. His hands went slack, his body surrendering. Maybe she was another hallucination, but he wanted to indulge.

Her hands ran through his disheveled hair, stroking it with slow movements. He purred, he had missed it like crazy. She slicked his hair back, stroking him from the sides of his head back to his neck. Her deft fingers rubbed his scalp soothingly.

His entire body slowly relaxed. Maybe he was dying from an overdose, but it felt like bliss. He could not remember the last time he had fallen asleep by his own will; it was always forced by drugs or alcohol, or his body just crashing. But, like with everything, she was the exception to the rule. She could calm or excite his heartbeat in a moment; she could make him do _anything_.

He suddenly remembered the rescue action, bringing her home in his arms. His eyes widened for only a moment before a satisfied grin spread onto his face.

He refused to admit it, but he was a sick, hopeless addict to her smell, her voice, her skin. The way she laughed, the way she stroked him, the way she touched him. Even though he used to be frustrated, sometimes furious with some of her crazy shenanigans, he craved each one of them now.

Without her everything had been meaningless. He had thought he found his heart in some sort of deranged way when she surrendered to him, but then he had lost his use for it again when she disappeared. For the first time he had actually felt like a psychopath.

After Harley had come along and changed him forever, made something happen in his damaged brain, connected nerves he thought were broken forever, he could never go back to his previous self. He could never return to living alone; he was damaged more than ever because of her. A second bath in acid and she made him completely dependent on her. His buried self-preservation instinct reacted to her as if she was a part of him.

Compared to now, he had been sane before he met her. He had become so deeply disturbed in his devotion – she was the one who broke his brain, the parts that had managed to function. At least he functioned in a way that worked for _him_ before. She had shown him that there was much more than his empty, selfish existence before she came along, sex with no strings attached, death and darkness.

Harley held his head in her lap and stroked his hair until she had chased the insomnia away. His own demons left him helpless, but she battled them bravely, and she won every time.

 

***

 

The Joker was planning a special date night for them both. A grand event to celebrate that his queen was back, and they would wreak havoc together again. He was occupied in the penthouse, working with the preparations. She was simply told to stay in the other rooms meanwhile, so the surprise wouldn't be ruined.

It would have been better to go to one of their various other hide-outs, but he refused to let her out of his immediate presence. She seemed drawn to him the same way; she always ended up in the same room as him.

He was in the living room, deeply focused on his work, when he heard her steps coming closer. He was about to tell her to get out, but stopped.

She was wearing nothing but one of his shirts buttoned halfway up, standing in the doorway with a smile. She never used to wear his clothes before. Though he was possessive of his belongings, he actually liked it. It resonated with something deep within him; she was closer to him, she _was_ like him.  
The Joker stood there watching her; just reveling in the fact that she was back, his little monster would be out roaming the streets with him again. Their old routine would be back.

Harley tilted his head to the side. The burgundy-colored fabric hung loose around her and revealed pale skin. She was gorgeous like usual, wearing everything or nothing; her hair was messy and she wasn't wearing much make-up.

She lifted one sleeve to her face. "How do I look?"

Unable to keep away, he stalked through the room and wrapped his arms around her.

She hugged him with crushing force. "I missed you so much, Puddin'."

He inhaled her scent deeply. She was already running in his system like a drug; deep relaxation was spreading through his body. How had he been able to stand all this time without her? Starving and drinking, but nothing could compare to this.

"I've missed you too," he said darkly. He smelled her hair, her sugary sweet perfume, mixed with his own fragrance, cologne and smoke, dried blood and sweat – he had used that shirt for days on end. The thought made him scowl. His hands swiftly ripped the shirt off her; leaving her bare.

She buried her face against his chest for a moment. When she looked up at him, he saw the same Harley as before, but he also saw a faint hint of Harleen in her eyes. He had thought that Harleen was dead and gone, but now she appeared in the form of the _silent_ devoted look in her eyes. Harley normally was very vocal about her love.

He stroked her face with his fingertips, his heart beating strongly. Gotham just got a bigger problem than a moody Joker on the warpath: a happy Joker, fully re-energized with his partner by his side. Nothing could stop him now.

He could feel a slight warmth rise beneath her skin, as his fingers drew invisible patterns across her cheeks, circling her heart tattoo. The heart that completed the deck.

"Get dressed, baby. We're goin' out tonight." He flashed his widest smile, the one he reserved only for her, and she responded with an even wickeder grin. Harleen was gone and Harley Quinn had taken over. He loved how he never could know for sure which part of her would show up. She had so many different sides of herself, one for every voice in her head. It was a part of the constant thrill of being with her, all the surprises. It was like being in a mine field and an amusement park, all together.

She giggled. "Let me greet the Bat," she asked excitedly before kissing him passionately. He frowned and pulled apart. "No."

"Aw, Puddin', what's this? Don't ya wanna play with Batsy?" She pouted.

"Not tonight," he growled. He took her face in between his hands and stared intently into her eyes, causing her to drop her smile. His gaze was hard, relentless.

"Puddin'?"

Joker gritted his teeth. Didn't she have a clue, after all this time? Couldn't she see just how starved he was, for her only? The thought of her getting caught by the damned Bat again, after he just got her back… He really must have been insane in a new way for even caring about that.

Harley's eyes widened slowly. "I'm not going anywhere," she said, a fierce gleam in her eyes. "I promise." She stared back at him, just as intently. Joker felt his muscles slowly relax.

"Only you and I," she whispered and winked seductively, licking her lips.

He kissed her hard, molding his lips against her, and she eagerly responded. He couldn't help the groan that escaped him as she ran her hands through his hair, messing it up.

Her naked body against his was distracting him, but he had planned such a big thing for her tonight. He just held her close for a few more moments, moving his hands to grip her waist. She rubbed herself against him, his little vixen was back.

The front door suddenly opened behind them. The Joker spun around, snarling, and pushed Harley into the wall behind him. He stood in front of her as she giggled.

"Frost," he exploded, already aiming his gun at the intruder. It was another goon. He wasn't prepared to see his boss in such a state, and definitely not boss' girlfriend, grinning maliciously. The henchman quickly averted his eyes, thankful he hadn't seen much, but it was too late.

The Joker bared his teeth. A gunshot rang out, followed by another and another, until the body was quite mashed. The Joker breathed heavily and ripped off his own shirt with one smooth movement. He gave it to Harley and she slipped into it, laughing excitedly. Her gaze focused on his bare torso and she drew closer. "Puddin'…" she breathed.

"Go get ready," he told her sternly. With a teasing look she sauntered through the room toward their large bedroom, giving him a look over her shoulder. He was distracted by the way the white silk fabric clung to her curves, showing off the smooth rounding of her bottom…

But he had some preparations to finish for tonight. He entered the bedroom half an hour later, knowing she would not be ready for a long while.

Harley was standing in her underwear and his shirt in front of his part of the enormous wardrobe. A variety of his pressed shirts and pants were thrown on the floor, among a large pile of her own dresses, glittery shorts and shoes. She gave him a pouting look. "I don't know what to wear."

He felt no trace of irritation, for the first time. After all, he had been holding onto her clothes when she was gone, and he was responsible for ripping many of them apart. They could never substitute her, but at least they smelled right.

"Come here," he purred. She skipped over the piles of clothes on the floor. He had her up against the wall a moment later, his body pressing hers into the wood. He kissed her deeply, making love to her with his mouth, while her hands ran up and down his back. The way she teased made it impossible to resist. He craved her with every cell in his body, already increasing his dose to the highest level of addiction. He wanted to feel her again, bare and raw.

"We'll get you new clothes later," he breathed into her ear, just as she pressed her nails into his skin hard, leaving red marks. It drove him over the edge, and a moment later they were on the floor, rolling around among their clothes.

 

***

 

Glowing with her brilliant after-sex smile, she was dressed up in a shimmering red dress. Joker had changed into his best suit, and they were ready to hit the streets.

Harley twirled around in front of the mirror, red lipstick on point. Like an unstoppable force of nature, she was enthralling. The lust for murder was evident in her eyes.

"Let's have fun, Puddin'!"

He held out his hand to her. Before the night was over, his Queen would be smiling down from the monitors all over the city and on the front page of all newspapers.

The Joker could only watch her as he led her down to the limousine, putting the entire city at her feet. His gift to her, an extravagant 'welcome back' party – in their own style, of course. He was so high on her; it would be a hell of a wild ride.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!


End file.
